Living Morrie’s Lessons

People approach Mitch Albom at book signings with tears in their eyes and photographs in their hand.

They’ve come to get Albom to sign “tuesdays with Morrie” (Doubleday, $19.95), his book about a young man, an old man and the meaning of life. But they’ve also come to show him pictures of their own mentor - their own Morrie - who taught them how to savor life, love and relationships that outlast even death.

Albom thanks the people for their kindness, then asks if they want their pictures back - “They say, ‘No, I want you to have them. Morrie moved me so much.”’

Albom and Morrie Schwartz are moving a lot of people.

Albom’s book about rediscovering his college mentor has been on several best-seller lists recently, including The New York Times. Oprah Winfrey devoted one of her shows to “tuesdays with Morrie.” Albom was touched that she kept a dog-eared copy by her bedside. Rabbi James Bennett of Temple Beth El in Charlotte, N.C., abandoned his previously planned sermon to preach about the book at Yom Kippur services.

Albom, a columnist for The Detroit Free Press, has struck a nerve in a nation of nervous people. We fear we’re drowning in the sea of career, ego and status. Then he introduces us to a wise, funny sociology professor who shares the secret of life even as he approaches death from Lou Gehrig’s disease.

Albom, 39, had lost touch with Morrie since their days at Brandeis University. Then he caught his mentor talking about his illness late one night on ABC-TV’s “Nightline.”

Soon, the young man and the old man were sharing Tuesdays in Morrie’s home outside Boston.

Albom would come to their meetings with a tape recorder and food from a nearby grocery store.

Morrie would be waiting with wisdom.

He counseled Albom to slow down. Cherish family. Realize that dying is only one thing to be sad over.

“Living unhappily,” he told Albom, “is something else.”

Accept who you are and revel in it. Forgive yourself and others before it’s too late. Realize that death ends a life, not a relationship.

On their 14th Tuesday together, Albom and Morrie said goodbye with a kiss: “My face against his, whiskers on whiskers, skin on skin.” Morrie died on a Saturday morning in 1995. He was 79.

Before his death, Morrie invited Albom to visit his grave. Albom told him it wouldn’t be the same, not being able to hear his old friend talk.

“Tell you what,” Morrie answered. “After I’m dead, you talk. And I’ll listen.”

Albom is living Morrie’s lessons.

One of the nation’s most popular sports journalists - he appears regularly on ESPN - he has put family above career on his list of priorities.

He formerly would work through the night. Now he stops in the middle of the day to walk with his wife, Janine, outside their suburban Detroit home.

Americans are living Morrie’s lessons, too.

Wherever Albom appears, people talk about the magic of finding their one great teacher. They mention Morrie’s invitation to come and talk by his grave, how it keeps alive a loved one they have lost.

Albom is glad to sign each person’s copy of “tuesdays with Morrie.” But each time he does, he thinks of the teacher who deserves the credit.

“I just set out to tell a story about a young man and an old man and the meaning of life,” he said.